


straddle the line

by myeyesarenotblue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dimension Travel, Gen, Kree Monolith, it's a crossover !!!, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23258671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myeyesarenotblue/pseuds/myeyesarenotblue
Summary: He blinks, wonders if he’s perhaps hallucinating but decides he probably isn’t. There are a bunch of school children and an old coot, just standing there, staring at them with a various mix of horrified and amused expressions on their faces.“Okay,” Bucky says. “Alright”
Comments: 57
Kudos: 498





	1. I told you not to touch it

**Author's Note:**

> Does this make sense? No  
> But I already wrote it so there you have it. 
> 
> Also, in my head Steve and Bucky are a Thing but feel free to read it however you want, I didn't even tag it

“Steve, don’t you dare touch that thing,” Bucky hisses, standing right behind him and trying with all of his might not to smack him across the head, “We don’t know what it is.” 

“I wasn’t going to touch it,” Steve lies, the liar. 

“I can see you want to touch it from a mile away, asshole,” Bucky says, scoffing. 

But he does give him some breathing room. For his own sake, mostly. 

They’re meant to be doing _recon_ , anyway, because apparently SHIELD just sends literally whoever the fuck happens to walk by on recon these days. It’s not the worst, Bucky guesses, but it’s not the greatest thing either. There are only so many abandoned Hydra bases he can wander around without getting itchy for a fistfight. 

This particular Hydra base, though- 

It’s _boring_. 

There’s nothing. 

Just endless rooms, and endless floors, each one with a couple desks here, a couple chairs there, a couple of scary as fuck machines from hell straight out of Bucky’s worst nightmares scattered all around. The usual. 

At least this one room doesn’t have any torture machines whatsoever. It’s just some drawers with boring files that Natasha’s gonna want to analyze word by word and are gonna make Bucky want to suddenly forget how to read, but other than that, there’s nothing. 

Nothing but the weird fucking thing Steve’s making eyes at. 

Bucky sighs. 

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he says, walking closer, “What the fuck is that?” 

Steve shrugs, “I’ve got no idea.” 

And- 

That seems about right. 

The thing looks more or less like a piece of rock, about the size of a toddler’s head. It’s a pretty off-white color, with a blue stripe running across its middle, all rigged edges and torn appearance, as if it was ripped from something bigger. Bucky would honestly assume it’s just a nice rock some weirdo decided to put on a display shelf for kicks and giggles, in a pathetic attempt to decorate the place. 

But it’s a _Hydra_ base. 

Bucky doesn’t trust anything in a Hydra base on principle. 

There’s a low-pitched sound, like static, and Bucky wonders where it’s coming from for all of two seconds before he realizes it’s just the goddamned comms acting up again. They shriek, and whine, and then there’s the sound of Natasha’s voice, distorted, “Did you find anything good, boys?” 

“Maybe,” Steve says, “There’s a thing here.” 

“A thing?” 

“Yeah, uh, we don’t know what it is,” Steve says, and he’s looking at the damned rock as if it’s made of gold. Bucky, unfortunately, knows that look. “I’m gonna check it out.” 

“Steve, I literally just told you not to touch it.” 

“But-” 

“No,” Bucky says, sharply. “Don’t touch it” 

Natasha cackles madly. 

Though the comms, it sounds like a broken lawnmower. 

“Stay right there,” she says, and Bucky could almost swear he can hear the smile on her voice, all mocking and self-satisfactory, “I’ll be there in a minute” 

“Hurry up, Romanoff,” Bucky tells her, and he only dares to roll his eyes because she isn’t in the room and therefore can’t see him. Steve keeps staring at the thing. “You better get your ass here before Captain Dumbass touches the weird rock.” 

“Rock?” Natasha echoes, a hint of surprise. 

“Yeah.” 

There are a couple seconds of quiet static, and then Natasha’s breathing out very slowly, “You better not touch that thing,” she says, in that tone of hers that’s all calm and relaxed but actually means she’s freaking out. “If it is what I think it is- I didn’t know Hydra still had one.” 

“Well, it’s here,” Bucky says, and glares at Steve for good measure, “And we’re not touching it.” 

Steve huffs, rolls eyes, “I’m not going to touch it.” 

Two seconds later, surprising exactly no one, Steve touches it. 

Or- not so much as touch it, because Bucky enjoys believing Steve isn’t all that dumb, but he does reach up and open the door to its little glass prison just as Natasha shows up from out of nowhere and before anyone can react or do anything about it, the rock- 

The rock goes liquid. 

It just fucking melts like ice-cream on the asphalt on a hot day, and grows, and grows, and grows, and grows, until it swallows them whole. 

_“I told you not to touch it!”_

* 

Bucky falls on his ass on top of a rotisserie chicken. 

That’s just not a good place to fall. 

And it isn’t just the chicken, though. It’s an entire goddamned dining table, with full glasses and full plates, and Bucky got thrown on top of it because Steve couldn’t keep his hands to himself and _touched_ the weird rock. 

Steve and Natasha are there too, with Bucky, and the chicken. Bucky manages to straighten up, accidentally sinks his whole fucking hand on a mess of mashed potatoes. “St- I fucking hate you,” he says, flexing and unflexing his fingers. “What the fuck.” 

It’s not like the plates are easy to clean. His fucking arm is gonna fucking smell of fucking mashed potatoes for the rest of his life. 

“Uh, hey, hey?” Steve says, distinctly nervous. 

Bucky looks up, and yeah- yeah, they’re not alone. 

He blinks, wonders if he’s perhaps hallucinating but decides he probably isn’t. There are a bunch of school children and an old coot, just standing there, staring at them with a various mix of horrified and amused expressions on their faces. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, “Alright” 

Natasha climbs off the table very slowly, never taking her eyes off them. Steve and Bucky do the same. There’s a meat knife lodged in the wood, there, next to one of the place mats, and Bucky pockets it discretely while he’s climbing down. He’s a firm believer there’s no such a thing as too many knives. 

“Number Five,” the old coot says, coldly, shooting a random kid standing a couple feet away from them a dirty look, “Perhaps you’ll consider rescheduling your foolish attempts at time travel for another afternoon.” 

The kid nods dumbly, staring at them. 

There’s- 

There’s a lot Bucky’s not understanding, here. The first and most concerning being that a weird rock just upped and spat them out right into some rich fucker’s dining room. Which- definitely not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to them, but- 

A girl steps forward, all big brown hair and dark eyes, “Dad?” she starts, a little anxious, and Bucky’s super awesome spy abilities tell him this means the old coot is the children’s father, “Should we-?” 

“Children,” the old coot says, “Please restrain the intruders.” 

Almost immediately, one of the kids pulls out a giant butterfly knife from out nowhere and throws it with a freakishly good aim right at Steve’s fucking painted target in the middle of his stupid suit. Bucky blocks it, of course. Reaches with his metal arm and stops the thing dead in its tracks before it can do any real damage. He pockets that knife too. 

The old coot doesn’t even bat an eyelash, “I said _restrain_ , Number Two” 

There are a couple seconds of tense silence. 

Natasha edges a hand towards her thigh hostler. Bucky sort of hopes she doesn’t end up needing to use a gun, though. Going against a bunch of children might just fuck her up. 

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and so, Bucky makes a show of scoffing, scowling, trying to get them to lower their guard around him. He addresses the old coot. He’s the one in charge. “Hey, are all your kids’ names numbers, or-?” 

But he doesn’t get a reply. 

The first kid- _Five_ , rolls his eyes. He takes a step in their direction and then just fucking disappears in a flash of blue light with a horrible shrieking noise. 

“What the-” Steve starts, looking around wildly. 

Natasha raises an eyebrow. 

Then there’s the same horrible shrieking noise coming from somewhere behind their back, and when Bucky turns around, there’s Five, somehow, standing there and staring at him with an air of entitled smugness. He raises a fist and punches Bucky across the face with no hesitation. 

“Ow- _fuck!_ ” Bucky hisses, clutching his cheekbone, but he doesn’t punch back because he’s got limits now and all that bullshit- a twelve-year-old's punch does _not_ equal one of his own. 

Although- the kid does pack a good punch for how small and scrawny looking he is. He sort of reminds him of Steve, when they were that age. He’s got the same look in his eye, full of rage, just aching to prove something, anything, to anyone. 

Natasha pulls out a gun. 

It all goes to shit after that. 

Everyone freaks out, moving, yelling, raising fists. One of the kids, the only other girl, gets pushed back until she’s standing behind the rest of the children, shielded by them. 

Number Two pulls out a second butterfly knife, raises it high and aims. 

Bucky doubts he’d miss, if he were to throw it. 

“Hey, hey,” Steve says, somewhat hysterically. He keeps looking at all of the children with a concerned expression on his face, worried. “Why don’t we calm down for a second? We’re not hostile,” he glares at Natasha and her gun- she doesn’t move a muscle, “and we’re not here by choice, so if- I mean, we can just-” 

The first girl steps forward, stands dangerously close to the barrel of Natasha’s gun. 

Steve trails off, staring at her, at her boldness. 

Bucky- 

He doesn’t like where this is going. 

The girl opens her mouth, “I heard a rumor you all went to sleep.” 


	2. Natalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I just realized I have no plan for this beyond 'everyone interacts and it's funny' but uhhhhh... enjoy

Bucky wakes up inside a metal box. 

It’s startling, for a second. Because it’s been years since the last time he lost consciousness against his will and woke up somewhere weird. His brain lags, short-circuits, screams at him to stand up straight and wait for a handler to show up and start barking orders- 

_Ready to comply._

But- 

That’s not it. 

Steve’s passed out next to him, and Natasha is standing already, deadly still. 

“Steve, hey,” Bucky says, and he shakes him roughly, not taking his eyes off the box’s tiny window, right in front of them. The old coot is standing just outside, looking in through the window with a vague air of curiosity, as if they’re particularly ugly zoo animals and he just can’t tear his eyes away. 

Natasha is staring at him. 

He is staring at Natasha. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fucking creep,” he mutters, and he squeezes Steve’s forearm when he notices his eyelids starting to flutter open. 

“What-” Steve starts. 

“You’re an idiot and I hate you,” Bucky tells him, first and foremost. He’s never going to forgive him for this. Steve blinks up at him, dumbly. “Also, we’re in a cage, so-” 

_“What-”_

Bucky huffs, stands up and leaves him to panic in peace. He’s mad at him, anyway. He goes to stand next to Natasha instead. That old dude… 

“Who are you supposed to be?” 

No reply. 

But Natasha nudges his side, a barely there touch. “It’s soundproofed.” 

Bucky grunts. 

The old coot reaches for something to the side of the cage's door, and then there’s a shrieking noise disturbingly similar to the sound their faulty comms make every now and then. A sound system. Speakers. 

“I am Sir Reginald Hargreeves,” he says, matter of factly, as if the title should mean something to them, “I would like to know who you are and exactly why you barged into my house.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky echoes, “And I would like to know why the fuck we’re stuck in a cage.” 

Hargreeves raises an eyebrow. 

Bucky decides he doesn’t like him. 

Steve shuffles from somewhere behind them, goes to stand next to them and face the old man. He’s got his business face on. “Sir, I am Captain Rogers,” he says, very seriously, and waits a beat- no doubt hoping for recognition to set in, for Hargreeves to suddenly gasp and let them go. 

But if the goddamned red, white, and blue didn’t do it, Bucky doubts anything will. 

Steve clears his throat awkwardly, carries on. “I’m sure from your perspective this doesn’t look too good but I assure you we didn’t mean to intrude in your home. We’re with SHIELD, we’re not hostile. This is just a big misunderstanding.” 

Hargreeves hums, stares at them. “SHIELD?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Interesting,” Hargreeves says, flatly. 

Steve deflates. “I- uh, holding SHIELD agents captive is a punishable offence, Sir. We understand you felt the need to protect yourself when we showed up, but if you let us out now, we’ll just be on our way. No one needs to hear about this.” 

Hargreeves stares at them for a very long time. Long enough that it becomes painfully clear they’re not getting out of the stupid cage anytime soon. 

“I’m curious about this- _SHIELD_ of yours,” He finally says, “Never heard of it before” 

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You’ve never heard of SHIELD? Like- _ever_?” 

He doesn’t get a reply. 

But that’s a reply itself, isn’t? 

* 

Klaus wakes up to someone shoving their hand over his mouth. 

He screams bloody murder, naturally. But it’s just- 

“God, shut up!” Five barks out, holding his shoulders down. “What’s your problem?” 

Klaus wills himself to stop screaming, waits patiently until Five lets go of him, “What’s _my_ problem?” he echoes, hissing, as he straightens up, bedsheets pooling by his waist, “I don’t think I’m the one with a problem here, Five.” 

Five rolls his eyes. Klaus can just barely make out the movement through the dark. “Whatever. C’mon, we’re going downstairs to check out those freaks that showed up today.” 

“Wh-” Klaus starts, “Why? _Downstairs_?” 

“Yeah, c’mon. I wanted to go since ages ago but Vanya kept saying we shouldn’t leave you just because you’re asleep,” Five says, stepping away from his bed. 

“You’re taking _Vanya_?” 

Five gives him an odd look, like he’s an idiot, “She insisted.” 

Klaus sighs, “Yeah, okay, just- give me a minute, I think I’m gonna need shoes for this.” 

“Hurry up,” Five says, simply, and he jumps out of his bedroom without a care in the world. 

So Klaus hurries up. He puts on a pair shoes and a pair of shoes only, because he’s pretty sure if he wastes a single second fishing out clothes from his dresser Five’s gonna murder him- it’s way too late at night to be thinking about wearing anything that isn’t pajamas, anyway. 

By the time he shuffles out of his room, he can hear the tell-tale whispers and quiet footsteps that are his siblings mid sneaking around. 

There they are, the bunch of them. 

He’s not the only one in his pajamas. 

Klaus loops an arm around Ben’s shoulders, leans into him. Ben hardly reacts, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “So,” Klaus starts, maybe louder than he’s ought to if they don’t want Dad to wake up and tear them a new one. “We’re doing this or what? Personally, I’d like to go back to bed like- right now, but. I get it, I know how it is, Dad says no and suddenly all I want is to-” 

“Klaus, shut up!” Diego hisses, smacking his arm. He looks towards the end of the hallway as if Dad’s going to materialize out of thin air. “Do you want to get us in trouble?” 

Klaus pouts, “Uh, no, not really. I was just saying.” 

“Well, do it later, then,” Five says, exasperated. He starts walking away. “Let’s go now, before anyone notices we’re not in bed.” 

Everyone follows. Klaus does, too. 

They go down the stairs and through the entrance hall, going lower and lower, the kitchen, the gym, the laundry room- 

“Where are we even going?” 

Luther looks up at him. “There’s a- cage? In the subbasement. Dad had me put them there.” 

Klaus huffs. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. So there’s a secret cage in their secret subbasement, so what? 

There’s an elevator tucked away in a corner and they all hop in, standing close together. 

The space is small and uncomfortable, and, unwillingly, Klaus ends up thinking of that one other small and uncomfortable space he never seems to get out of these days. But it’s- 

It’s fine. 

A flimsily elevator is nothing like the mausoleum. 

And a lot of people are claustrophobic, anyway. Nothing special. Vanya looks like she isn’t enjoying the ride all that much either, looking around at the metal paneling with a plain disturbed expression. Allison, too. 

The thing is, when the door finally opens up, when they stumble out of it and into a maze of hallways, following Luther’s footsteps as he guides them- 

When they reach the room with the cage- 

Now _that_ feels exactly like the mausoleum. 

Ghosts. 

Ghosts all around. 

Surrounding the three newcomers from every corner, some bloody and torn, unrecognizable, some with bruised necks and empty eyes, some with bullet wounds, with stab wounds, with burns, and bruises, and- 

And it’s not like Klaus didn’t notice them before, but before they all seemed to be just as disorienting and confused as the living ones, taking in their surroundings and wondering why the hell they weren’t in Kansas anymore. Now, though. Now. 

Ben steps backwards, walking blindingly, his movements chopped and awkward, and then he’s clasping a hand tightly over his stomach with a pained moan. 

Yeah. Yeah. 

He told him once, that the Horror knows danger like it knows blood and hunger, instinctually, an innate reflex born out of something older than they can even comprehend, even if Ben himself doesn’t. The Horror knows what these people are capable of. 

There’s a control panel next to the cage’s door. Five pokes at it. 

White noise fills the room. Static. “There,” he says. 

Klaus forces himself to tear his eyes away from a ghost with half his face covered in old burn marks and the other half caved in, as if a building fell on him, and instead he tries to focus on the cage’s window, on the two hulking men and the redhead. 

“Children,” the woman says, smiling something lopsided. Her lipstick is very pretty. It’s a different shade than Mom’s. “Didn’t your old man warn you to stay away from us? We could be dangerous for all you know.” 

And those are- 

Interesting words, for someone who pulled a gun on them and is also followed by a small hoard of angry ghosts of which Klaus can make out a few children as young as them. 

But Diego snorts. “Yeah, right.” 

“What? Too difficult to believe?” 

There’s a hint of something, there, expectant and daring. Feels like something out Dad’s Interrogation 101. And of course, of course, Luther falls into it. “It shouldn’t be a problem for us, even if you’re dangerous,” he says, in that special tone he reserves for the cameras, “We deal with dangerous every day.” 

“Yeah?” one of the men asks, the one with the metal arm. 

Luther nods, all proud and giddy, and it’s like he doesn’t even notice it when both Five and Diego roll their eyes, and Vanya looks down, and even Allison grimaces a bit, “Of course! We’re the Umbrella Academy! We’re-” 

“Luther,” Diego hisses, “Shut up, you’re telling them everything.” 

“What? I’m not-” Luther starts. But he blinks, and he seems to realize he was two seconds from blurting out every single detail about their lives. He has a tendency to do that. 

The moment passes. 

Five goes to stand very, very close to the cage’s door, its window. “Who are you?” 

Metal-arm rolls his eyes, leans into the blond's space. “This one takes after his daddy.” 

Five doesn’t even blink. “Who are you?” 

“Who’s asking?” Metal-arm shoots back. 

“Don’t waste my time,” Five says, tight and fuming, for no reason whatsoever. That’s why they're always saying he needs to work on his anger management. “I’m not here to play games. I want your names, c’mon. Spit them out.” 

“Why should we, huh? You’re shitty hosts.” 

Five clenches his jaw. 

It’s almost funny. 

The blond breathes out very slowly. The woman’s face is a careful mask. 

Five jumps into Diego’s side in a wave if blue, pats at his clothes a little too harshly, and then jumps back towards where he was standing before Diego can cuss him out. 

He’s holding one of his knives. 

“See that?” Five says, smiling like a psycho. He holds the knife where everyone can see it. “I can do that exact same thing I just did, except I’ll jump in and stab you before you even notice I’m there.” 

That gets their attention. 

But maybe not the way Five was expecting- 

“Yeah?” Metal-arm starts, tilting his head to the side, an amused glint in his eyes. He clenches his hands into fists and the arm- the arm does something, plates shifting, moving up and down. “I’d like to see you try” 

Five nods, looking awfully decided, “Fine,” he says. “Fine, if that’s what you want,” and he goes to jump away, blue light shining out of his fingertips, warping the air, but then- 

Luther. Vanya. Allison. 

_“Five, what the-”_

_“I don’t think you should-”_

_“What if they-”_

They all reach for him. Luther ends up clasping his shoulder and pulling him away from his portal before he can go in. The light sputters and dies. 

“What the hell?” Five snaps, trying to shrug Luther’s hands off him but failing. “Let go off me, you ape. What do you think you’re-” 

“You can’t do that!” Vanya shrieks. “Dad said they’re dangerous!” 

“So? I can take care of myself.” 

Luther huffs, “That’s not the way we do things, Five. I’m the leader, I’m the one who says whether or not we-” 

“Oh, don’t give me that _crap_ ” 

“Five-” 

“No. I’m-” 

Allison steps in. “Don’t be ridiculous! If they hurt you and Dad finds out he’s gonna kill us!” 

“He’s not gonna find out because they’re _not_ going to-” 

“Five, you’re not invincible!” Vanya blurts, eyes wide, “It’s like- like today, what were you going to do? Dad says you’re not ready but you still were going to-” 

“ _Vanya!_ ” 

“ _What-?_ ” 

Five finally manages to get Luther’s hands off him. He shrugs him off with a harsh movement, and then he’s stepping away, Diego’s knife held high. 

Allison opens her mouth, “I heard a rumor-” 

“No! Don’t you dare!” and he shoves at her. Klaus winces, jumps away even though he’s nowhere near them. Ben, too. It’s a miracle Allison doesn’t end up with a stab wound. 

_“What the hell, Five?”_

And then it’s Diego. “I think Five’s right. If they don’t wanna do it the nice way then we should-” 

“God, you too? What’s your problem?” 

“My problem’s that-” 

Klaus- 

Klaus zones the hell out. 

He knows this game and he knows it can last for days if someone doesn’t back off and admit defeat. He also knows for a fact no one will back off and admit defeat out of their free will. 

So it’s easier, to focus on the strangers, and their ghosts. 

If there was an air of tension to their shoulders before, now it’s almost completely gone, replaced by something annoyed and vaguely unsettled. No way they’re gonna fall for Five’s threats now that they’ve seen them fight among themselves like a bunch of babies. 

But the ghosts- 

Five yells something out. Then Luther. Diego starts doing that thing he does where he stands up with his back unnaturally straight and pretends he could take Luther down in a fight if he wanted to but simply chooses not to. 

Their voices raise, high, high, high, high. 

The ghosts’ wailing raises too. 

_“-murderer, he’s not even a person-”_

_“-idiot américain, putain de tueur-”_

_“-should be in jail, next to-”_

_“-made it look like an accident-”_

_“-fucking bitch said I-”_

Klaus stumbles backwards, ends up knocking his back against Ben’s side. 

His siblings keep screaming at each other. 

The ghosts keep screaming at _him_. 

“Klaus?” Ben starts. 

Klaus shakes his head, looks down, and prays not a single ghost heard his name and will try to use it. The louder the living shriek, the louder the dead shriek, feeding off each other, screaming, crying, begging- 

“A name, Luther!” Five yells, his voice crystal clear above the roaring noise. “I just want a goddamned _name_ and then you can go back to being Dad’s little bootlicker.” 

A name, Klaus thinks, desperately, hysterically. 

Five wants a _name._

He forces himself to listen to the ghosts, to focus on a single one for a couple seconds and then move on to the next, listening, paying attention like he’s never done before in his life. 

But there are no names, no names- 

Just mangled things, barely coherent, spitting out obscenities and begging for a type of retribution that will never come, ever. There’s got to be at least ten different languages mixed in there, completely incomprehensible beyond a couple words here and there- 

But then there’s a girl, maybe even younger than them, wearing a ballerina assemble, pristinely white, a ring of bruises around her neck, and she’s standing next to the redhead for some reason, shrieking at her in a tongue Klaus isn’t all that familiar with- russian, maybe? 

And there- 

There’s a _name_. 

“Natalia!” Klaus blurts, overtly loud. 

Everyone freezes, dead and living alike. 

The redhead stands very, very still. “What did you say?” 

“I- uh, that’s your name, isn’t?” Klaus says, just barely avoiding whispering, “Natalia.” 

The blond leans into the window, frowning, looking at him like the freak Dad’s always telling him he is. “You-” he starts, not glaring but something near- it's mostly confusion, edged into his eyes, maybe some fear. Curiosity. “Kid, how- where did you hear that?” 

Klaus shrugs. 

The ballerina ghost turns to smile at him, bright and frightening. 

“Alright,” Five says, not shrieking like a mad-man this one time. “Alright, good, that’s- this a good start as any,” he looks towards the redhead, regards her, _“Natalia”_

But she seems to swallow, sets her jaw. “It’s Natasha, actually.” 

Odd, Klaus thinks. Odd. But who is he to judge? 

It’s not like he still goes by Four these days. 

Metal-arm sputters, turns to look at her. “Oh, so we’re just doing this? I thought after the thing with Hargreeves we were gonna-” 

She shoots him a sharp look and he freezes, lifts his arms up placatingly. 

The blond sighs, “I’m Steve Rogers,” he says, tiredly, “Y’know, Captain America.” 

And, yeah, he- 

He does _not_ know. 

He turns to look at his siblings and receives blank stares. Who the hell knows what this guy is going on about? He certainly doesn’t. 

Metal-arm rolls his eyes, “Fine, whatever. Name’s Bucky” 

“What kinda name is _Bucky_?” Diego blurts, no hesitation. 

“What kinda name is _Number Two_?” 

Diego pulls out a knife. 

They should probably get some stuff out of the way before they can talk like civilized people.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @myeyesarenotblue


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